Deep Moat Grange

by S. R. Crockett

  CHAPTER XIV

  BROWN PAINT--VARNISHED!

  We had a merry afternoon and laughed--eh, how we laughed! I heard allabout the girls, how they had just been at school, and how Constantiahad just come home, full up of all the perfections, and deportment, andthe 'ologies, and how many men wanted to marry her--were dying to, infact! That might be all right. It was Harriet who told me--thoughthat does not make it any the more likely to be true (I am sorry tosay). For I can see that that young woman was trying to take me in allthe time.

  "But for the parson, we would have a dance!" whispered Harriet; "but ashe will sit there and tell Stancy about her 'azure' eyes till all'sblue, you and I can go for a walk instead--shall we?"

  I didn't want to, you may imagine. The difficulty was how to say No.Indeed, Harriet never asked me. She had put on a smart little summerhat, and we were out on the moor quicker than I can write it.

  "Mind you," she said, laying her hand confidingly (as I then thought)on my arm, "don't you ever dare to tell Stancy that her eyes are liketo the vault of heaven, or like forget-me-nots wet with dew, or liketurquoises, or the very colour of her sky-blue silk scarf. For, firstof all, it's not true, and it is wrong to tell lies. More than that,she will tell _me_. And I like--well" (she added this bit softly,taking a long look at me) "never mind what I like. Perhaps it's aswell that you shouldn't know."

  Then she kicked away a pebble with the toe of one tiny boot andappeared to be embarrassed. I think, now, that she knew she had apretty foot.

  Anyway I began to be conscious she was a nice girl, and to be sorry forher--a way men have. Men are such wise things, and not vain at all.

  Don't think I forgot. I was always just going to tell her about Elsie,when she darted off into something else. She was constantly doingthat--a most ill-regulated and disconcerting girl. I knew she wouldcertainly have been interested in Elsie. The two had so much in common.

  We were going through some straggling trees on the edge of Brom Common,when Harriet stopped and turned her eyes on me, as if she would havedrowned me in them. I didn't know before that they were so big anddark and shiny--especially in dusky places. Harriet Caw knew, however.

  "What colour are my eyes," she demanded. "Quick, now, don't cheat!"

  "I don't know!" I said truthfully. "I never noticed."

  Then she got mad. You see, I had no experience and didn't know enoughto make a shot at it. For girls always notice eyes--or think they do.And when they go to see a man condemned in court for extra specialmurder, they sigh and say, "What very nice eyes he has--who would havethought it?"

  And if he had been tried by a jury of girls, he would have got offevery time--because of these same nice eyes. That is why the justiceof a country is conducted by men. One reason, at least.

  "Well, then, look!" she cried, making them the size of billiard ballsright under my nose. It was, I own, rather nice, but trying. I had afeeling that Elsie would not have liked it, really.

  So I said, "Come out where a fellow can see them then!" And made as ifto go out on the moor. But Harriet Caw didn't care about the moor,being a town girl, as I suppose.

  "No, here--tell me now!" she said.

  So as I had to say something, I told her they were the colour of brownpaint.

  That was true. They were, but she was quite mad, and gave my arm afling. This surprised me, and I said--

  "Why, I thought that you were the kind of girl who never cared to betold about her eyes, and stuff of that kind. You said just now aboutMiss Constantia's----"

  "Never mind about M--iss Con-stan-ti-a's," she said, making the word aslong as she could--she was mad now and patting the short, stiff heatherwith her little bronze boot; "attend to me, if you please. And so youthink my eyes are the colour of brown paint; is that the best you cando?"

  I thought a while, and she kept glaring up at me till I felt like a henwith its beak to a chalk line--I forget the word--something you arewhen you go on a platform and do silly things the man tells you.

  So, hoping she would stop, I said at last, "Well, perhaps they are moreshiny, like brown paint--varnished."

  But this didn't please her either. Indeed, it was difficult to pleaseHarriet Caw at all. She said that I was twice as stupid as a cow, andasked where I had lived all my life.

  "In Breckonside," I said, but I added that I had often been with myfather at East Dene. And once I had crossed the ferry all by myselfand spent Easter Monday at Thoisby itself.

  "Humph," she said, wrinkling up her nose with great contempt. "Isuppose that you have never even heard of London."

  I told her "Yes, of course." And that I could tell her the number ofits inhabitants.

  But this she didn't seem to think clever, or, indeed, to care about atall.

  She only said, "Are all country boys as stupid as you are?"

  To be called a boy like that made me angry, and I ran after her,determined to pay her out. I was going to show her that country boyscould just be as sharp as there was any need for.

  But quick as I was, this city girl was quicker, and she slipped acrossthe road almost at the very place where we had found the last traces ofpoor Harry Foster. She dived among the underbrush by the stile, and Ilost sight of her altogether.

  But the next moment I heard a cry. You had better believe I wasted notime till I got there. I ran, opening a good, stout clasp knife thatfather had given me--or, if not "given" exactly, had seen me with, andnot taken away from me. It comes to the same thing.

  Well, just a little away across a green glade, all pine needles and sundapplings, stood Mad Jeremy, and he had Harriet Caw by the arm. I wentat him as fast as I could--which was a silly thing to do, for, ofcourse, with his strength he could have done me up in two ticks of aclock. Only, as mostly happens when one does fine things, it was allover before I thought.

  "Just a little way across a green glade--stood MadJeremy--he had Harriett Caw by the hand."]

  But when Mad Jeremy saw me, or, perhaps, before (I do not want to takecredit for anything that isn't my due), he let go of Harriet Caw,saying just "She isn't the pretty one! What is she doing here?" Andwith a skip and a jump he was gone. That is, so far as I could see.

  Then Harriet swooned away in my arms, toppling over like a ladderslipping off the side of a house. At least, I suppose that is whatthey call it. But at that time I had had no experience of swoons. ForElsie never went on like that. At all events, Harriet Caw clutched meabout the neck, her fingers working as if they would claw off mycollar, and she laughing and crying both at once. Funny it was, butthough it made a fellow squirm--not altogether so horrid as you mightthink. But I did not know what to do. I tried hard to think whetherit was the palms of her hands or the backs of her ears that you oughtto rub, or whether I should lay her down or stand her up against atree. I knew there was something. Then I got in a funk lest, afterall, it should be the soles of her feet.

  But Mad Jeremy had not altogether gone away. He had been watching, andnow popped his head and shiny ringlets round a tree trunk, whichbrought me to myself.

  "Ah--ha!" he cried, "I'll tell the pretty one about these goings on!"

  And, quick as a flash, that brought Harriet Caw to herself, also. Itdid better than splashing water or rubbing hands. The moment beforeshe had been all rigid like a lump of wood in my arms. But as soon asthe words were out of Mad Jeremy's mouth, she was standing before me,her eyes flashing lightning, and her elbows drawn a little in to hersides.

  Mad? Well, rather. She was hopping, just.

  "So _I'm_ not the pretty one," she said--whispered it, rather, with ahusky sound, like frying bacon in her voice. "Oh, I see--that's why myeyes are like brown paint--varnished! Well, who's the pretty one?Answer me that!"

  "I think he must mean Elsie!" I said, telling the truth just as brieflyas I could.

  "Elsie--oh, indeed! Elsie is the pretty one, is she, Master Joe?"

  "Yes," I said, "she is!"

  I was going o
n to tell her how much she would like Elsie, and how Elsiewould love her, when suddenly Harriet Caw turned and marched off. Iwas going to follow her--indeed, I had to. For I wasn't going to beleft in that gloomy glade with only the great tits and Mad Jeremyhiding among the trees.

  But Harriet Caw turned round, and called out, "Go to Elsie, I don'twant you! I dare you to speak to me! I will kill you, if you touchme!"

  I told Harriet quite reasonably that I would not touch her for mints ofmoney, and that all I wanted was just to find Mr. Ablethorpe, and pickup the parcel I had left at her grandfather's before going home.

  It must have looked funny enough if any one had seen us. Well, MadJeremy did. For we could hear peal upon peal of wicked, sneeringlaughter pursue us, as we went in single file across the road, over thestile, and across the moor.

  At the stile over the highroad I came up closer to Harriet, owing to aslight hesitation on her part, and the switch she gave her skirts toescape the contagion of my touch, was something to see. I had alwaysthought I was something of a favourite wherever I went. So I took theworse with such treatment.

  However, I put it down to Harriet Caw's having been brought up inLondon. My father always told me to watch out for London folk--younever could tell what they would be up to. Certainly not with Harriet.